The Legacy of Totalitarianism in a Tundra
by jojospn
Summary: Written for Otoriosa-kan's Title Fic Exchange. Prompt from Team Wingless. Set sometime in late season five. Still refusing to say yes to Michael and Lucifer, Zachariah tries once again to convince the boys otherwise.


**AN: Written as part of the Title Prompt Exchange from Otoisosa-kan. Prompt submitted by Team Wingless.**

 **The Legacy of Totalitarianism in a Tundra**

"Listen here, you sonofabitch." Dean's voice is pure venom as he stares at the angel standing before the brothers. "There is no way in hell we're ever gonna say yes, so why don't you fly your asses outa here?"

Looking somewhat out of place in the shitty motel with his trendy business suit, Zachariah rolls his eyes in frustration. He has long sense dropped his amusement of the Winchester brothers, having tried everything from zapping to alternate realities to stalking the boys in a wild goose chase in Heaven. He has given cancer, stolen the breath from the boys' lungs, with the snap of his fingers. Even his brother Gabriel's attempt (though by far not the classiest method, though undoubtedly clever) of zapping the duo into TV land had proven to be ineffective.

It was supposed to be easy, relatively speaking. Show the Winchesters the truth, maybe mess with them a bit (after all, there was bound to be some resistance), and within a week, two tops, the stage would be set; but as smart as Zachariah was, his one mistake had been underestimating the brothers. It would take more than a few trips through alternate realities to convince them.

"You will say yes, Dean." A malicious smile tugs at the angel's lips. "I guarantee you, it will happen. You can fight all you want, deny it until you're blue in the face. But in the end, you _will_ be Michael's vessel. Your brother _will_ be Lucifer's."

"That will never happen." Beside his brother, Sam reaches for the angel blade, his fingers clasping the hilt of the knife. Zachariah notices the not so subtle attempt to kill him and laughs. "You two must be desperate if you think you can kill me. You two really aren't that smart for all the talk." The angel snaps his fingers, breaking the younger Winchester's wrist, the weapon crashing harmlessly to the floor. Beside him, Dean lets out a horrified yell, before Zachariah snaps his fingers once more; in seconds the hunter is mute, left only to stare at his brother in concern.

"Don't worry," the angel says, approaching the brothers. "This is only temporary. Hopefully when I'm through with you boys you'll finally have the brains to make the right choice."

"Wait, what?" Sam hisses through the pain. "You're going to send us to some messed up alternate universe or something? Didn't work last time."

"That was last time. Do you know what the problem is, Sam? I underestimated the two of you. This whole 'Team Free Will' crap? Thought nothing of it, even with Castiel in the picture. But I assure you, I will not make that mistake again. After this I'm going to make you wish you'd said yes a long time ago."

XXX

The first thing Sam Winchester notices when he comes to is the bitter cold.

"What the hell?"

Slowly the events from the motel begin to form in his mind, like the beam of a lighthouse penetrating trough heavy fog. He vaguely remembers having his wrist snapped like a twig, and gingerly inspected it; to his surprise and relief, no white hot pain shoots up his limb when he tested it. He also remembers how his brother had been gagged, and he groans; Zachariah had been involved.

A violent gust of wind reminds Sam that he is no longer in the (well, relative) comfort of a motel bed, and he shivers as he examines his surroundings. The entire landscape before him is a sea of dull browns, a hint of crimson peppering the ground below him. In the distance, framed by a clear, almost cloudless sky lie snow-capped mountains, like centurions awaiting command. The scene before him is almost beautiful despite the severity of the situation, and under different circumstances Sam would have enjoyed the scene with awed admiration. But now is not the time, and the hunter immediately scans the area in search of his brother; sighs with relief to find him only a few yards away, also groaning as he slowly regains consciousness. Immediately Sam is at his side, eyes scanning his brother in search of serious injury.

"Dean? You ok?"

"Just peachy," Dean moans, rubbing his temple gingerly. He hates when angels zap him; even when Cas does it, he finds the trip to be far from comfortable. Sitting up, Dean scans his surroundings, just as his brother has done minutes earlier. "Shit, dude, where the fuck are we?"

"As for where we are, it looks like we landed in the tundra. As for what country and what time, I have no clue." Dean curses again, allowing Sam to help him to his feet. "A tundra, huh? Wow. This is fan-freakin'-tastic." He pauses, and then yells, to no one in particular: "ANGELS ARE DICKS!"

"So, I'm guessing Zachariah zapped us here for some reason or another. Probably trying to get us to say yes." Sam shivers again, reminding him of the cold; they need to get moving: fast. "I say we start walking, see if we can find some kind of civilization. At least find out where, or _when,_ we are."

"You have any idea which direction?" Dean gestures with his eyes at the vast array of seemingly nothingness which surrounds him. Sam, however, grins, and points to the west. "Think maybe the smoke seems like as good a place to start as any."

"Smartass."

Their destination set, the boys start walking in the direction of the smoke. The sun shines brilliantly, and within a few minutes, the brothers find themselves warming slightly under its rays. The pair travel in silence, Sam at last taking some time to enjoy the beauty of the scene before him, all the while spotting for potential danger; beside him, Dean is doing the same, though no doubt not caring in the slightest about how pretty the landscape is. The journey is relatively long and uneventful, the only sign of life being a caribou nibbling at something on the ground, and the call of birds circling above.

Two hours later, a village appears from the horizon, and both brothers sigh with relief. As much as the exercise and sunbeams have helped, it is still quite cold outside, and both Sam and Dean have been wondering how they would survive the night should their destination prove to be farther than expected. Picking up the pace, the brothers make their way to the village, the smell of meat grilling on the fire making their mouths water and stomachs rumble in anticipation. It's definitely been a while since either of them have had a nice, home cooked meal.

When the brothers at last reach the village, however, the sight before them is far from what was expected. Instead of the comfortable, modern homes of the twenty-first century Inuit, warm wooden huts pepper the landscape. The colony seems deserted, save the baying of a coyote in the distance. Dean scans the area, a look of disgust on his face. "Aw, crap, we aren't in Kansas anymore, huh?"

"Guess not." Sam pulls out his cell phone, not in the least surprised that the device is useless. "Not sure exactly _when_ we are, but I can bet it's in the colonial days. Sixteenth, seventeenth century, give or take."

"And how do you know that, Poindexter?"

Sam rolls his eyes, taps his brother on the shoulder. "History class. Plus, I'm pretty sure that these buildings date to around that era. Either way, when Zachariah zapped us, he sure never considered our wardrobe," with a gesture to his outfit. Dean nodded in agreement. "Not exactly blending in, huh?"

"Either way, we can't just sit out in the cold or we'll never make it to morning. We have to talk to someone, and just hope no one thinks we're nuts."

It isn't long before the brothers met up with one of the locals, a young woman no more than eighteen or nineteen. As expected, she greets the Winchesters with a wide eyed stare, and turns on her heel in search of someone to alarm. "Wait," Sam calls, and the woman stops. "We mean no harm. We're just trying to find someplace to eat and stay the night. My name is Sam Winchester…."

"What did you say your name was, sir?" The woman finally turns around, the look of fear replaced with one of expectation. She is remarkably pretty, with long, black hair and dark eyes framed by long lashes, cheeks painted cherry from the bite of the cold. Beside him, Dean smiles a little in anticipation, and Sam smacks him in the arm. "Not now," he hisses, and his brother pouts playfully. "My name is Sam Winchester," he repeats, "and this is my brother, Dean," gesturing to the shorter man. "I know we don't look like you. It's kind of hard to explain."

"No," the woman says, her voice soft and lyrical. "You are those the elders speak of. Two brothers shall fight to the death. But none of this now," eying the brothers critically. "You are not dressed appropriately for the cold. Come, you must have something to eat." She guides the brothers along the narrow streets of the village, stopping before one of the larger, more affluent of many almost identical wooden structures. "First, you eat. Then I'll explain the prophecy.

XXX

Nearly an hour passes, and the brothers are warm, full, and surprisingly, comfortable in their new clothes, despite the itch of the heavy furs The woman introduces herself as Astrid, the daughter of one of the village chiefs. "My lineage is that of Tiberius" (Dean smirks slightly at the name, no doubt itching to toss out an inappropriate Captain Kirk joke, and once again Sam smacks him gently on the leg). "He was a great leader, one who provided health, prosperity, and harmony to the village. There was peace when he was leader. His younger brother, Hazen, was jealous of his sibling's great fortune, and success as ruler. His heart was filled with anger, hatred, and desire, for he wished to ascend to the throne. Ultimately, he murdered his own brother and was crowned leader. The once harmonious village was then thrust into anarchy. He became absolute leader, committing hideous atrocities in the name of the gods."

"Like _Hamlet,_ " Sam interjects. Seeing the look of confusion on Astrid's face, he continues: "A play. About a man who murders his brother in order to become king."

"Yes," the young woman nods in understanding. She picks up her mug and continues. "Hazen's reign lasted for four years. It was horrific; the bloodshed… slow, agonizing death…" Astrid shudders, reflecting on the era as one who had lived it. "It was prophesized that two brothers would restore peace to the village. It may seem like it has already come to pass" (seeing the look of confusion on the brothers' faces) "but I assure you that this is, in fact, a reprieve. For to this very day the descendants of Hazen rule this land. Our food is diminishing, the majority of our earnings are sent to the king."

"I thought feudalism was a thing of the past."

"Under normal circumstances you would be correct, Samuel. But that makes no difference to the king."

"So you had this prophecy that the two of us would show up and what, squash this Hazen guy's lineage?" Dean rubs the back of his neck, already feeling the nervous tension in his muscles. They have no weapons, no lore books… this is going to be a tough one.

"That is not the prophecy."

Both brothers exchange surprised glances. "Come again?" Dean asks, arching an eyebrow.

"That is not the prophecy," Astrid repeats, and for the first time, the brothers note the frustration on the young woman's face. "It is written that the two brothers shall fight to the death." At this comment, Dean visibly pales, while Sam wears a face of stoicism: both know which brother will die. "No," Dean exclaims, shaking his head vehemently. Not going to happen. You better find someone else, lady."

"Dean, there _is_ no one else. Why else do you think Zachariah zapped us here?"

"So, what, you're just going to lie there and die? Let those dicks _win_?" Dean feels the panic threatening to overpower him, and he wills himself to calm down. "What happened to Team Free Will and all that crap?"

"I am sorry." Both boys are startled by Astrid's soft voice, forgetting in the heat of the argument that the woman was still present. "I wish there was another way, but there isn't. You are both to meet at dawn in the village square." And before either brother can protest further, Astrid rises and leaves.

XXX

The first rays of dawn are breaking upon the village, casting a warm glow on the landscape. A fresh dusting of snow has blanketed the streets, the scene reminiscent of one found on holiday greeting cards. But standing in the middle of the square, Dean sees only his brother: the one he is, again, destined to kill. _It's almost funny,_ Sam told him the night before, but Dean has failed to see the humour in the situation. All he knows is that he is supposed to kill his younger brother. And for what? To fulfill some bullshit prophecy? To end the goddamed apocalypse? Before him, Sam nods in understanding, pleading with him to just do it and get it over with; but Dean can't. Knows that he _won't._ And as expected, right on cue, a flutter of wings is heard in the distance and Dean knows that the man (well, angel) of the hour is right here, waiting.

"Tick tock, Dean," Zachariah sing songs, and Dean resists the urge to deck him, angel or not. "It's already past sun up. You have a prophecy to fulfill, and time is of the essence, is it not?"

"Fuck you."

"My, my, such language from the Sword of Michael," Zachariah chides, shaking his head in mock disgust. "You'll have to control that potty mouth of yours in the future."

"Do you really think this is going to get me to say 'yes' to you? You're gonna have to try harder, Zach."

"Oh, it will," the angel says calmly. "Because your little Sammy? He's not in there anymore, if you get what I mean."

"What did you do to…" But Zachariah is long gone, and before him, Sam suddenly approaches, not his Sam anymore, but Lucifer himself. "Well, well, looks like we meet again, Dean," not-Sam says, pulling out his weapon. "Didn't want to meet under these circumstances, but _c'est la vie, n'est-pas?_ "

Dean swallows, fighting the bile that is forming beneath his throat. "Sammy, if you're in there, it's not your fault, ok? And I'm not gonna hurt you."

"That's where you're wrong, Dean. Don't fight it. It's meant to happen. And if it makes you feel any better, I don't want to do this, either. But I have to. Because I'm the good son." Lucifer sighs at first, and then a small grin spreads across his brother's face. "But it's not happening today. Doesn't matter what mumbo jumbo Zachariah pulls, it isn't meant to happen today. But I can give you a taste of what will happen if you say 'no'. Lucifer closes his eyes ( _it's not Sam, it's not Sam_ ) and in an instant, the villagers around him drop like flies. "That? That was child's play. Do you want to see what else I can do, Dean?"

"I bet you're gonna show me anyway, right?" The thing wearing his brother laughs, Sam's voice sounding so like his younger brother, and yet different. "Yes, yes I am. And I'll tell you something else, Dean. He's awake right now, and is going to know exactly what it's going to feel like killing you." Lucifer smiles, snaps his fingers as Dean collapses to the ground, clutching his throat. Almost instantly, he feels precious oxygen draining, and Dean struggles to hack what little air is left into burning lungs, as Sam (no, the thing _wearing_ Sam) watches, a look of what seems to be sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry Dean. I like you. And I don't like watching you suffer. Well, ok, I actually do," chuckling faintly at this. "But this is what will happen if you refuse to say 'yes.' You, dying slowly, while Sammy watches. This isn't what you want, Dean. It's not too late."

Dean looks one last time at his brother, vision already blurring. He wants to say no, regardless of the fact that it is no doubt killing his brother to witness him dying like this, slow, agonizing, but he can't, instead only letting out croaks and weak gasps. He struggles to remain conscious, determined to see his brother one last time before death, even if he isn't really him, just as Zachariah bends before him.

"Let's see if you've finally learned your lesson," he says, and presses a finger to his forehead.

XXX

Dean's eyes snap open, and he gasps for breath, greedily gulping air into lungs which should be burning. He is no longer lying on the cold ground but instead on the cold linoleum of their motel room; beside him, Sam is also stirring. "Sammy? Is that you?" Slowly the younger Winchester rises, sees his brother alive and well before him, and is at his side in moments, crushing him in a tight, bear hug. At first, Dean relaxes in the comfort of the embrace. But it isn't long before one of his traditional wise cracks comes to surface, breaking the dreaded "chick flick moment". "Hopefully that's the last time in a while I get to be an angel condom."

"Dude, not funny." Dean nods, sees the lingering grief in his brother's eyes, and memories of the Browen County Mystery Spot flood back. "Yeah, you're right."

A flutter of wings echoes in the tiny room and Dean rolls his eyes, expecting to see the angel of the hour. Instead, Cas stands before them, looking harried as usual. "Cas? What happened, man?"

"You need to leave. I was able to hold off Zachariah for a while, but it won't be long before he finds you again."

"You don't need to tell us twice," Dean agrees. Beside him, Sam is already packing his few belongings into his duffle. In less than ten minutes the brothers are ready to hit the road, Castiel watching them in a way which would be unsettling to Dean under normal circumstances but seems almost comforting now. Almost as if that old saying of his mother's had some truth to it, after all.

"You need to be more careful in the future," Cas continues as the brothers make their way to the Impala. I am unsure as to what Zachariah did to convince you to say 'yes' but I have no doubt it was far from pleasant."

"Understatement of the century," growled Sam.

"Don't worry, Cas," Dean smiles, patting the angel on the shoulder. "Zachariah may have his douchebag angel connections, but they've got nothing on us." The angel nods his head and in a flash, is gone. Dean sighs, pulls open the door of the Impala.

"You always did suck at goodbyes."


End file.
